


A Thrice Bound Ring

by YamiXenara



Series: The Spellwound Order [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anakin Seems Well Adjusted in this, Anakin's a little shit, But that's because you don't see much of him tbh, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Obi-Wan Kenobi, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Magic, Mostly because these dorks need to talk things through, Ok so it's a little slashy, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi, Purple Prose my Bad, Rituals, Soul Bond, starwars just with magic instead of the force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26153629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiXenara/pseuds/YamiXenara
Summary: “We doing this or not?” Obi-Wan sucked in a quick inhale and glanced down at the rings. A looming sense of dread started to prickle up his spine.“Are you sure-“ Obi-Wan started to ask.“I’m positive Mentor. I asked, I know the risks… we know the risks. But the benefits outweigh the odds for once.” Anakin’s lips twitch into a rueful smile, “Why, having second thoughts?”
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: The Spellwound Order [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899223
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	A Thrice Bound Ring

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so first and foremost this is the first fanfiction I've ever posted. Original writing, in other places I've posted a dime a dozen, fanfiction? Oh no. I suck at characterization, which is the reason I don't write fanfiction, so apologies in advance for any OOCness you read. 
> 
> I am well aware of my failures as a writer - oocness, purple prose, grammar problems, tenses. All the good stuff, that being said I welcome constructive criticism! If you don't like it, say 'hey I don't like this because...' instead of 'it sucks'. It sucks helps no one. It's just kriffing rude you sleemo. 
> 
> That being said, I'd love to hear what ya'll think of it, and hopefully, I'll have more for this AU soon :3

The ritual was simple, a three-ring binding drawn in purple and etched with delicate runes covered the floor. Its purpose was mostly to uphold the aesthetics of tradition, rather than out of any actual necessity. Thousands of souls have stood in this very place; have dropped to their knees and sketched out these very lines with chalk stained fingers and sleeves. Obi-Wan was just one of many. Dusting off his hands he rose to a stand and looked back at his work. The inner ring a continuous looping vine symbolizing growth and life. The middle ring a sharp geometric scrawl, strong as durasteel and just as hard to temper. The outer ring deceptively delicate but probably the strongest of them all resembled lacework – together they formed a bond of loyalty that stretched back through centuries. _Undoubtedly_ , Obi-Wan mused with a wry twist of his lips, _some of my best work_. His hand rose to stroke his beard reflectively but stilled as a clatter of noise cut through the silence. It was the sound of muffled cursing and heavy footsteps coming closer that made Obi-Wan turn, however. 

“Now, now Anakin – that sort of language is hardly appropriate for _these_ halls.” Amusement leaked through the words and into the still air. A young man rounded the corner with a scowl on his lips, and dirty blond hair plastered to his skull. He was drenched, robes clinging to his shoulders, and water dripping into puddles at his feet.  
“Kriff off Obi-Wan, like you’re one to talk! Just yesterday you almost verbally eviscerated one of the acolytes for mixing up your tea with the spell mix.” The man, Anakin, paused before fully entering the room.

“It was a summoning mix which contained White Snakeroot, which is poisonous Anakin.” Obi-Wan retorted, a single eyebrow inching its way up his forehead, “I’d rather not get sick because some -some _youth_ didn’t know how to tell tea and important spell ingredients apart!” He sputtered slightly, finally registering the sopping mess the younger man was, before inhaling deeply and pressing firm fingers to his forehead. “What happened to you? Fell off your speeder and took a dive in one of the fountains or is drowned rat your current fashion taste?” Anakin snorted, made a gesture that might have indicated rain ( _or perhaps you’re right_ ), then proceeded to remove his outer robe. It dropped to the floor with a surprisingly loud squelch. Obi-Wan shot a pointed look at the mess, before shaking his head with a sigh. _Some things, it seemed, would never change_. That thought sent a shock of warmth for all the simultaneous exasperation it also brought.

“Over a decade and I still haven’t been able to teach you decorum. I’m slipping in my age.” A huff, barely a vague exhale of irritation. Anakin smirked as he stepped closer to Obi-Wan, and in turn the circle on the floor.

“Well, _old man_ , something you haven’t been slipping in is rune work obviously.” A sliver of a feeling pressed against Obi-Wan familiar in its fickleness. It ached a little against his chest. “I guess this is why you’ve earned the title runemaster, Mentor.” A flash of light drew Obi-Wan’s eyes briefly to the black and gold stained hand at Anakin’s side. Just as quickly they darted away. The reason why a failure that was almost… 

_Mentor_. He didn’t deserve the title.

“A title you too would earn if you applied yourself more to the theoretical side of our work, my _Journeyman_.” A near-seamless transition, if one did not know Obi-Wan. The answering – questioning glance was expected. Anakin, after all, knew him all too well. 

“Why would I need the theory when I have you Obi-Wan?” He grinned, all flashing teeth and squinted eyes. A real grin. “And it’s not Journeyman, not anymore.” 

“And I am no longer your Mentor, my dear.” He turned, circled around to the other side of the rune, and smiled at his former apprentice.

“You’ll always be my Mentor, Obi-Wan.” He was quick to reply, his arms crossing in front of his chest. His sleeves were still damp and stuck to his skin. His right hand without the glove that normally covered it. Mottled black necrotic… he raised a brow for the second time that night at the beautifully infuriating man in front of him. By the sudden flustered flush that rose to his face, Obi-Wan knew the hypocrisy registered. “Anyway,” he continued, steamrolling through both his own embarrassment and a surprisingly tender statement with his usual brashness, “We doing this or not?” Obi-Wan sucked in a quick inhale and glanced down at the rings. A looming sense of dread started to prickle up his spine.  
“Are you sure-“ Obi-Wan started to ask.

“I’m positive Mentor. I asked, I know the risks… we know the risks. But the benefits outweigh the odds for once.” Anakin’s lips twitched into a rueful smile, “Why, having second thoughts?” It wasn’t second thoughts, more like seventh or eighth thoughts. But Anakin wasn’t wrong. A three-ring binding. A binding of mind, body, and soul. Once, in days long past, it was a marriage tradition. A way to know if a partner was in pain, to know their mind as intimately as one’s own. Nowadays it was a bastardized and gutted mimicry resketched for war. A promise to protect, a fire-forged bond made for a battlefield. These days only the closest, most in sync of teams took the oath. For good reason; even watered down the snapping of one side of the bond could cripple the other. It was, in all honestly, a till death do us part. For a galaxy currently drenched in war, it was a matter of great risk. But it was a risk that could alter the very foundation of how they fought together. It could make them unstoppable. 

Obi-Wan wanted it. Honestly, it scared him how much so. It was of course another way he could protect the boy he taught, the man he loved more than himself, ( _more than he was willing to admit_ ). But it was also a deeper connection, something that scared him to pieces at the thought. They’d never truly be alone in their own heads after this. Eventually, they’d be able to create walls between them, but it would take time. Perhaps more time then they could risk ( _and what would Anakin find out? What secrets would he have left after this_ ) In the end though, most of the risks weren’t enough to outweigh the benefits of such a bond. Even the thought of what could happen if one of them dies… ( _After all, if Anakin died, he knew a part of him would break. He didn’t need a ritualized connection to tell him that. His heart burned. His hands clenched. Purple motes of chalk dust swirled in the air._ )

“No, no second thoughts.” Anakin’s face lit up as he drew closer. He looked younger than his years at that moment, Obi-Wan could almost see the young Journeyman he’d mentored at that moment. They stood face to face; the three linked rings layered between them. The air was cool and dry. From the way Anakin still looked, damp and disheveled, it was likely not quite so outside ( _for all the thought of him falling into a fountain amused him_ ). Flickering lights were mounted in decorative sconces on every pillar. They were the only two people in the room, and for a second, it felt like they were the only two people in the universe. “Anakin, have you decided on your wording of the ritual?” Anakin hesitated, then nodded.

“I’ll just copy what you say, and switch in Caster. You’re the Ritualist, and well, I don’t exactly fit any other role.” Obi-Wan snorted, fond amusement in his eyes as he shook his head. 

“ _Anakin_ , really a little effort would be appreciated. Besides fishing for compliments is beneath you. You almost excel in almost every role, from Arcanist to Technomancer. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re _not_ going for Technomancer.” Anakin laughs, his head tilting back with the strength of it. For a split second his hair caught the light and seemed to burn. ( _I need to stop-_ )

“I’m a terrible Ritualist. And Potioneer –” Another quirk of his brow at this lovely, _infuriating_ , man.

“Only because you are terribly impatient, my dear. You’d probably shine at them too if you tried.” He gestures, and continues “Regardless, I’m going to start, so I guess you’re stuck copying my dear.” Obi-Wan holds out his right hand, directly beneath it the center of the rune lays. Every Ritualist has a different way of activating runes. Some have a word or a phrase. Some a mix, or object. Obi-Wan feels each line he writes, each etch he carves, beneath his skin. With every breath, power hums through his veins. For all he hated the pomp and ceremony, he's earnt the title runemaster. 

With an inhale Obi-Wan **wills**. 

And the rune activates.

A bright lavender glow lights every line. Anakin extends his arm, his skin taking a greyish tinge in the glow beneath them. A connection, two arms clasped, a single heartbeat between. 

And thus Obi-Wan **speaks.**

“We invoke the thrice bound ring, to bind two souls in one fell swing. We are the newly forged sword; we are the blood that falls. Our life, our lives, our hearts, our minds. As one we shall become; as one we shall fight. I Obi-Wan Kenobi, consent to be bound as Ritualist raised and Magic born, to Anakin Skywalker my bonded and life.” Their grips tightened as the air around them became almost impossible to breathe. Obi-Wan felt… something. A niggling sensation at the base of his skull that he couldn’t quite…

“I Anakin Skywalker, consent to be bound as Caster raised and Magic born, to Obi-Wan Kenobi my bonded and life.”

.. a connection that sparked and burned and bled and pain and love and light and life and _obiwanifeelyou_ and _anakinyourethere andwefeelusyoume_. He was there, his breath their breath, in his head and his arms and his lungs and his throat. _Happiness, shock, vague horror, realization. Never alone, Obiwan? Hear me, oh goddess, exhilaration, calm._

“Then it shall be done. May Magic guide us.” Spreading from the innermost center of the rune was a bubbling gold _beautifulwonderfulneverseenmagicquite_ the gold bloomed following the three-ring binds’ every mark, it looked like a living thing _thisiswhatwearetogethersomethingbeautifulterriblenew_ Obi-Wan felt like he was drowning. 

And as the gold eclipsed the last of the purple, he did.

_A first meeting, hands shaking meeting. Copper hair gleaming in the sun, dimples from a wide smile, mynameisObiWanKenobihowareyou? misremembered Ani. Admiration, adulation, I’ll be your mentor, I’ll train you Anakin. Hair like spun gold darkening with age, years adding on layer by layer, smiling less and scowling more but your eyes are always warm when theylookatme. Darkness, drowning, fire heat blazing. Holding out your hand to save me, a dark cast, necrotic flesh burning spreading up your arm and EATINGYOUALIVEITHURTSITHURTSITHURTS IFAILEDYOUIFAILEDYOUIFAILEDFAILEDFAILED_

_I’m sorry. I know. I should have saved you. You did. You lost something that day. I’m alive because of you. I should have done better. We will, together._

_Warmth like a sun spreading through every limb. Affection blooming at the back of our minds. One mind one person. You, Me._

They separate. Falling apart is harder than falling together, but slowly they rebuild themselves. He remembers his name, Obi-Wan, blinks, and steps back from the burnt ash lines. Anakin stands, arm still outstretched, but slowly his hand clenches then drops to his side. His eyes clouded blue, shut. He inhales raggedly, then reopens them. Piecing blue clear.  
“Anakin…” Obi-Wan falters, stops. His body feels rubbed raw. Like a live wire. He can feel where Anakin sits, forever now, at the base of his skull. The spot in his mind feels warm, _safe_. Anakin laughs, a sharp strangled bark of a laugh, but a laugh regardless.

“We’ll be all right. Once we figure this all…” He waves a hand between them and smiles. It’s a warm smile, it looks how he feels in his mind. “hey, you ah, have a smear of chalk on your face.”

“Yeah.” Obi-Wan reaches for that warm spot in his mind, feels the shape of Anakin wrap around him, feels a single overwhelming emotion, an image of himself all refined copper beard- wild ocean eyes and sun-stained-hair- _beautiful_ and wipes the chalk off his forehead. 

He thinks he smiles, but something inside hurts. He thinks for a moment he might live to regret this. ( _But how could he, it’s… Obi-Wan? What are you-_ )

He flees.


End file.
